Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 825(@200wpm)___ 660(@250wpm)___ 550(@300wpm)
She falls silent, dark strands blowing across her eyes. “Not really.” Her eyes close. “He’s all alone.”
I turn my head away, gazing at the green as we drive past. Would Callum be after my family if I’d never broken his heart?
I’d love to fucking believe he’d be how he is in any life, but I can’t help feeling that he and his stepsister are in league against the world and everyone who ever hurt them.
Do I blame them?
If Callum has the Bay, he’ll be unstoppable in St. Carmen. No one will be able to touch him, and if no one can afford to challenge him, then they better not touch her. It keeps them both safe.
I’m not responsible for his emotional immaturity, though, any more than he is mine. It’s not always about beating other people. Sometimes your only job is to survive them.
That being said, I’d probably be doing exactly what he is right now.
Anna-Katherine presses my phone screen, skipping the song, and I tug her ponytail. “No one touches the radio.”
She laughs, and I smile, pulling into a parking spot.
She points to the second hole, about fifty yards away. “There he is.”
I could just leave her, but I want to make sure Milo isn’t around. Or anyone who might stir up memories for her.
She seems alert, too, letting her hesitant eyes wander around, but the course appears empty. It’s almost a hundred fucking degrees.
As soon as we get closer, she skips up to Callum. “It’s too hot,” she teases.
Sweat mats the hair at his temples, his backward cap not doing a thing to shield him from the sun. He stands with Vincent and Jerome, all of their shirts already discarded. His long, fucking amazing body is tanned, darker than it was just last night.
He embraces her in a side hug, but she squirms away. “Sweaty.” She grimaces.
“Did you have a good day?” he asks, not sparing me a glance.
She smiles, her shoulders relaxing. She feels safe with these three.
“Therese is going to take you in.” He gestures to the beer cart girl sitting under the trees with her feet up. “Celeste wants to show you how to make your favorite drink.”
She leaps up, excited. “Can I drive?” she shouts, running to Therese Beltran and completely forgetting about me.
In moments, she’s speeding away with the beer cart, and I loosen my tie. I assume he wanted me to bring her instead of sending their driver because he has things to say.
“Thank you for bringing her,” he tells me.
“Didn’t have much of a choice.”
He nudges a ball with his club. “Well, you are getting free labor out of her.”
I won’t point out that I never asked for an assistant. I’m glad she’s there, and I don’t want her hearing otherwise.
He sets the ball down on the tee, measuring up. “Actually, we needed to speak to you.”
I drift closer, his friends draining their beers and leering.
“We’ve replaced Ms. Oliver’s chaperone for her trip to the caverns at Mariana,” Callum informs me. “You won’t be going.”
Holding back my smirk, I watch him take his shot.
“That’s fine,” I shout in his backswing.
His ball goes high rather than far, the tiny white sphere disappearing into the rough.
“Maybe I’ll go up there for dinner Saturday night, though,” I taunt. “My weekends are mine.”
“Not this one.” He strolls back to me. “You’ll be in jail.”
A round of laughter goes off, Watson stepping to the tee.
“Do you notice?” I lower my voice. “When I’m winning, I don’t need an audience to pat me on the back?”
Callum curls his mouth in a sly smile to hide the fact that he’s not strong on his own.
Sliding his golf club back into his bag, he picks up his beer and takes a drink. I start to leave.
“If you make it home Friday night,” he calls out. “I’ll call off the curfew.”
Friday night.
Tomorrow night.
Pivoting back around, I slide my hands into my pockets and wait.
“On one condition,” he tells me.
“I’m listening.”
He strolls up to me again, his friends flanking him.
“You play with our women,” he states. “Bring one for me.”
Excuse me? My brain shifts between knowing what he’s capable of after Liv and suspecting he’s not serious, considering his stepsister. What does he want a Bay girl for?
“Someone who can be patient with me,” he whispers.
And realization dawns. Someone who understands that he wants to look like he’s enjoying it.
“The one with the thighs.” He looks to Watson. “What’s her name?”
“Diaz,” Jerome says, zoning in on me.
Aracely?
Why her?
“And then if you both make it home,” Callum announces, “I’ll call off the curfew.”
So we’re upping the stakes. I give him the show he wants to put on in the Wolfe Room, and he’ll give us a chance.
His blue eyes play with me. “If you have the guts to bring her…”
“I won’t be able to stop her,” I tell him.